Backstreet evolutionist.., p.13
Backstreet Evolutionist (Book 2): A Progression Fantasy Adventure Series, page 13
He looked at his watch, but it was still quarter to nine. The lazy old bastard was slacking off early. I shook my head and hugged Mom again before she left.
“Don’t worry, Mom, a monf’ll go by in no time.”
“You’re right, Misha, you’re right,” she said with a smile, barely holding back the tears.
Having bid my farewells, I stepped through the gate and heard it slam behind me. There was nobody in the school grounds. All the other moms had left already, and the boys had gone to line up for the shower room. I was the last, but never mind. I could always shower later that night.
I ran down the paved path, climbed the steps, and pulled open the door. I was immediately surrounded by the excited chatter of the other boys.
“Mom said I’m going to have a sister soon!” squeaked one of them.
“My mom gave me a lollipop. Man, it was tasty!” blurted out another happily.
“Pfft, sisters and lollipops — that’s all nonsense! Arkharov’s helping my folks build a new house. Now, that’s important!” said a third pompously.
I walked past the line for the shower room, glancing at the kids’ faces. They were happy. I was even surprised that none of them were upset they’d have to wait a whole month for the next mother’s day. Apparently, they’d made peace with reality of their lives. It wasn’t like they could change anything, anyway.
Stopping at the door to my room, I pulled out the key, placed it in the lock, and turned it twice. The door opened, but I didn’t step inside straight away. First, I listened. I couldn’t hear anything. Just in case, I summoned Mimo in the form of a spider, took control of his body, and searched the room from top to bottom. I even climbed up to the ceiling. All clear. I stepped in and locked the door behind me.
“Vat was a great day, and it could get even better,” I said with a smile, pulling the strongman’s hair out of my pocket.
The resonant female voice said: “DNA sample detected. Do you wish to analyze it?”
“I do,” I answered, lying down on the bed — I saw no reason to risk falling unconscious in the middle of the room.
“The sample contains the following dominants:
- Mesomorph
- Astigmatism
- Flat Feet
- Strong Bones
- Strong Ligaments
- Insulin Resistance.”
-
The list of dominants seemed rather short. Should I have made the strongman bleed somehow? Maybe then I’d have a greater choice, but I’d have given myself a whole load of problems in the process.
Ah well, what do we have? Mesomorph? I think that’s connected with body type. Astigmatism ruins your sight, and I don’t want flat feet either. Insulin resistance leads to diabetes, which I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. Strong bones and ligaments, on the other hand, were just what the doctor ordered.
Also, it was interesting that the strongman only offered me dominants connected with the body. On the other hand, it was unlikely that he spent much of his free time developing his intellect. Mentally giving the command to swallow, I immersed myself in my mind palace.
There was a burst of light in one of the free slots in the second row from the bottom, then it faded. I moved closer and saw a tiny steel-colored grain that was growing rapidly and forming a crystal. The female voice announced: “The Mesomorph dominant has been integrated. Mesomorph is an athletic body type that makes it easy to build muscle mass while retaining a low percentage of fat tissue.”
Hmm, that wasn’t bad. I really didn’t want to recycle it, although sooner or later I’d have to do an audit of my physical characteristics, as there were only three free slots left. The others were occupied with: Digestion Second Rank, Resistance to Alcoholic Intoxication, Sharp Hearing, Toxin Resistance, the Fencing grain, and now Mesomorph.
Hold on, what the hell did I need the Resistance to Alcoholic Intoxication dominant for? Toxic Resistance would be enough to neutralize all the damage done by alcohol. It’d probably stop me getting drunk too.
“Recycle ve Resistance to Alcoholic Intoxication and boost…”
I thought long and hard about which dominant to boost. Should I raise Mana Control to level three or turn the Fencing skill from a grain of sand into a full-fledged crystal? Of course, there was always the Fire Magic grain too, and there were a lot of interesting spells in the second rank of Ice Magic. Ah, damn this lack of genetic material…
Alright, let’s think rationally about this. I don’t have much mana — literally enough for one or maximum two spells. If I boost Ice Magic to the second rank, will I have enough mana for even a single one of those interesting spells? Quite possibly not. Alright, let’s forget that option.
What about Fire Magic? At the first rank, I won’t get anything useful. Sure, I’ll have a handwarmer for my pockets and a lighter in my fingertips, but what real use are they? I can already burn my enemies with cold. So, magic’ll have to wait for a better time.
Mana Control? One dominant definitely won’t be enough to boost it to a new level. That means all that’s left is Fencing. Okay, so I don’t have a sword of my own, but it wouldn’t be difficult to get one if I needed it. Any stick or scrap of metal could be a weapon too. What’s more, the Fencing dominant combined with the Dancer dominant would give me a huge advantage in close combat. Well, that was the answer.
“Recycle ve Resistance to Alcoholic Intoxication and boost Fencing.”
The Resistance to Alcoholic Intoxication crystal popped, turning to dust on the floor of the cave. Then a breeze blew that stirred up the crystal dust. The gusts spun it into a funnel, which rose toward the Fencing crystal. The dust adhered itself to all sides of the crystal, squeezing it to form new facets. A blaze of light blinded me for a second, and I heard the resonant female voice say: “The foundation of the new Fencing dominant is now a hundred percent full. Dominant formation completed.”
Now there was a full-fledged crystal in the slot, which brought a smile to my lips — I’d got a dominant I needed, and I’d freed up a slot for something more useful. I glanced over the remaining dominants and realized there was nothing else I wanted to sacrifice. Never mind.
I returned to reality and stretched from side to side, but couldn’t immediately feel any difference in my body. Well, it would be interesting to see how my body type had changed. I quickly ran to the shower room, washed, and then went to bed. It really had been a wonderful day.
In the morning, the siren sounded. I came sleepily out of my room and went outside. Then it was the soaking with cold water, the run around the school, breakfast, and after that my favorite of the useless lessons — lectures on basic control of mana. Stepping into the classroom, I noticed that Irina Parfiryevna wasn’t there. In her place was an old man with a receding hairline, tapping her pointer on his palm.
“Little geniuses, move your butts and take a seat!” he called out, smiling to show false teeth.
I flopped down in the back row and began to listen to the lecture attentively. This time, it really was interesting, although a couple of the assumptions were incorrect.
“This is what the structure of the energy channels used for the basic construction of a protective artifact looks like,” said the old man, drawing a load of lines that were all connected. In the center of the diagram was an energy store, drawn as a big round dot — this was what fed the whole structure with mana. “All you need to do is find a piece of scrap metal, make an item out of it — a ring or a bracelet, for example — and then imbue it with energy channels like this. The whole structure is strengthened using the runes Erd, Vihu, Yato, and Fehu.”
The teacher drew the familiar squiggles on the board, and I burst out laughing.
“Stand up!” he shouted indignantly, hitting his desk with the pointer. “Did I say something funny?”
“You drew somefing funny, more like.”
“Oh, I suppose you know more about artifactology than me, do you? Well, come up here and show us what it should look like,” said the teacher with a sarcastic smile, pointing at the board.
I nodded, took a chair, and dragged it over to the board. Leaning the chair against the wall, I climbed up on it.
“Vese channels here are useless. See, vey’re looped, so basically vey drive energy around in a circle. What we need is for ve energy to project outward, forming a defensive cocoon,” I said, crossing out a dozen lines. “Understood?” I asked seriously, turning to the class.
“Alright, smarty-pants. First, explain your theory to me, then I’ll decided if it’s worth sharing your nonsense with the class,” said the teacher sternly.
“Fine, let’s talk about runes ven,” I sighed. “Ve rune Erd is responsible for ve external appearance of magic, so it’s needed here, no question. Vihu forms a defensive dome, so it’s useful too. Yato strengfens energy structures, which is also helpful here. But Fehu needs to be removed.”
“Ha, what makes you say that?” snorted the old man, folding his arms across his chest.
“Vat rune is responsible for collecting and storing mana. It’s a useful tool, of course. But in vis case, vere’s already a physical energy store,” I explained, pointing with my finger at the dot the professor had drawn. “Vat store already holds ve mana. If you inscribe ve Fehu rune, vat will hinder ve propulsion of mana outward, as ve rune wil try to hold it in ve store. You see? You won’t be able to expel enough mana at once to form a strong barrier, as ve structure of ve artifact contradicts itself. You’re expelling mana and trying to keep it inside ve artifact. It doesn’t make sense.”
I put down the chalk, wiped my hands, and noticed the astonished look the professor was giving me. Reflected in the old man’s eyes was a thought process that kept him silent for a whole minute, after which he spoke again in the same light-hearted tone: “I’ve no idea how you know the meaning of runes, but that’s a very interesting theory. The only problem is, it’s completely divorced from reality. In practice, the order of runes I described earlier is used all the time and gives excellent results. It’s no accident that Baron Arkharov is one of the most powerful aristocrats in our region. It’s all because we maintain a very advanced level of artifactology.”
“Sure, ve level of ve stone age,” I snorted, dragging the chair back from the board and heading back to the back row.
“Mikhail, I’m glad your brain is working, but please keep your mouth shut and go back to your place in silence,” said the teacher to my back, before beginning to spout another load of drivel.
Still, I had understood one thing — my knowledge would be in demand in this world. I was particularly glad that their runic system was the same. How did I know that? Well, because when I explained the meaning of the runes, the professor didn’t contradict me. That meant I was right.
The lecture ended and I headed for the exit. Of course, however, the teacher wanted to stroke his ego.
“Of course, Mikhail, you are a fantasist, but you’re thinking in the right direction. Keep it up, and one day you really will understand how artifacts work.”
Aha, the condescending tone of the blissfully ignorant. How I love it! And he’d made sure to speak loudly too, so that everyone could hear. It was like he was praising me, while also making it clear that I was talking nonsense. Sure, sure, protect your authority while you still can.
“Your lecture was very entertaining. I hope you too understand how artifacts work one day, ven it could be useful as well as entertaining,” I said snidely, then dashed out of the classroom.
“Oh, you little swine!” roared the old man, flinging the pointer at me.
* * *
The same classroom, ten minutes later
The artifactology teacher paced from side to side, thinking about what Mikhail had said.
“Ha, so that little brat thinks he can teach me, does he? What a nerve! ‘Fehu needs to be removed.’ He’s the one who needs to be removed, the little dirtbag!” Anger made the old man slap the pointer so hard on his palm that he winced with pain. Furiously, he tossed the pointer down on the desk and stared out of the window. “But what if there’s something in that nonsense? They do say, ‘Out of the mouths of babes.’ Although he’s hardly a baby anymore. Besides, babies can’t even talk — what a stupid expression!”
Picking his bag up off the table, he slung it over his shoulder, turned off the classroom lights, and was about to close the door when his glance fell again on the diagram drawn on the board. The old man went back, pulled out his phone, and dialled the number of a friend who worked at the Yekaterinburg Artifact Factory.
“Sanych, you on the job?” he asked as soon as the call was answered.
“Yeah, Petya, I’m here. Working for the glory of the clan,” grunted Sanych, who was a senior technologist at the factory.
“Could you do a little experiment for me?”
“No problem, what do you need?”
“I’m going to send you a photo. Try making these changes to the structure of a protective artifact,” said the teacher, taking a photo of the diagram on the board and sending it to his friend.
“So, remove Fehu, right?”
“That’s right, and cut out the channels that have been removed from the diagram.”
“Alright, got it. That doesn’t look too complicated. Can you wait half an hour?” asked the senior technologist.
“Of course.”
The line went dead, and the artifactology teacher spent the next thirty minutes on tenterhooks. Finally, Sanych called back.
“Petya, well I’ll be damned! How the hell did you come up with that?” asked the senior technologist.
“On the toilet,” barked the teacher impatiently. “Tell me, did it work?”
“It sure did! The strength of the shield was doubled! And deployment was accelerated by half a millisecond!” babbled the technologist happily. “Petya, that’s got to be worth more than just a bonus, this could be your big break!”
“Or my big breakdown,” said the teacher thoughtfully. “Sanych, don’t tell anyone about this, okay? I’m going to call Arkharov now.”
“Go ahead, but don’t forget to mention me.”
“Will do,” said the old man, ending the call. “That snotty little genius. But what do I do now? Claim it for myself? No, if Arkharov finds out, he’ll hang me for sure, and there was a whole class of witnesses. Ah well, I’ll just have to tell the truth. Maybe there’s a reward for the bearer of good news too.”
Smiling, the teacher dialed the baron’s number, then froze as he waited for the call to be answered.
Chapter 12
LEAVING THE ARTIFACTOLOGY LECTURE, I headed to the gym. That day, I ended up with a battered old rapier, a mask that stank of sweat, and a five-year-old opponent. Ulyan Timofeyevich Yelfimov divided the rest of the class into pairs and clapped his hands to get our attention.
“Alright, today’s lesson is devoted to reviewing the material that we’ve covered. First, one of you takes the role of attacker, and the other defends. When I clap my hands, you change roles. Let’s go!”
Without wasting any time, my opponent rushed into the attack, deciding for himself that he’d go first. His rapier sliced through the air over my head. I ducked the lunge with ease and ended up behind the boy’s back. He turned around in surprise and swung wildly at me. The day before, I’d have jumped back and taken a sharp blow to my side, but now everything had changed a little.
My arm shot up diagonally and knocked my opponent’s sword upward. The guy stared at me in shock, his surprise even visible through the grill of his mask, then flung himself back into the attack to make up for his unfortunate failures. The steel whistled through the air, the blades clanged together, and for the first time I began to enjoy fencing, because everything came out the way I planned it.
In previous classes, I’d understood how I was supposed to hold the weapon, the angle I was supposed to deflect blows with, and all the other things I was supposed to do. In short, I’d known the theory from A to Z, it was just that my body couldn’t care less about my theoretical knowledge. It hadn’t been able to master the new material. Now, however, after I’d upgraded the Fencing dominant, something had changed. My movements stopped being clumsy and my rapier moved swift and sure.
Yes, there were gaps in my technique, and plenty of them. I could see the holes. But as I defended myself, I could feel the progress I was making. With each attack from my opponent and each deflection I made, I was controlling the blade better, even if I did sometimes let hits through. Thanks to my Animal Instinct, it didn’t happen often. Then I heard the hand clap.
“Let’s see how good you are in attack,” sniffed the five-year-old standing opposite me.
I began with a feint. I pretended that I was trying to stab his leg, pulled my hand back sharply, and struck at his face. The boy deflected my blow with ease. Okay, how about this? My rapier slashed the air near the boy’s stomach, flew over my head, making a full turn, and came down diagonally into his shoulder. At the last second, the five-year-old managed to jump back. He was quick.
A spark of excitement flared up in my chest and I dashed forward like I was possessed. I jabbed and slashed, feinted, tried to knock my opponent off balance and get behind his back, and attempted to knock the sword out of his hard. In other words, as Yelfimov had instructed, I showed everything I could do and more. My attacks didn’t hit their target that often, but then my aim wasn’t to knock down my opponent, it was to try out every move in my arsenal.
There was another clap, and we changed places again. The five-year-old slashed at the air, unable to make contact with me, while I began to work on my counterattack. Dodged a blow? Then jab your opponent in the side. Deflected his blade? Then make sure the damn ironware goes flying out of his hand.
When the session was over, I was very pleased with myself. Yes, there was plenty of room for improvement. There were opponents much stronger than me, but the combination of the Dancer, Fencing, and Animal Instinct dominants worked brilliantly. It would’ve been interesting to fight with some guardsman who’d already seen everything. It’d be great to know how big the gap between us was.
“Don’t worry, Mom, a monf’ll go by in no time.”
“You’re right, Misha, you’re right,” she said with a smile, barely holding back the tears.
Having bid my farewells, I stepped through the gate and heard it slam behind me. There was nobody in the school grounds. All the other moms had left already, and the boys had gone to line up for the shower room. I was the last, but never mind. I could always shower later that night.
I ran down the paved path, climbed the steps, and pulled open the door. I was immediately surrounded by the excited chatter of the other boys.
“Mom said I’m going to have a sister soon!” squeaked one of them.
“My mom gave me a lollipop. Man, it was tasty!” blurted out another happily.
“Pfft, sisters and lollipops — that’s all nonsense! Arkharov’s helping my folks build a new house. Now, that’s important!” said a third pompously.
I walked past the line for the shower room, glancing at the kids’ faces. They were happy. I was even surprised that none of them were upset they’d have to wait a whole month for the next mother’s day. Apparently, they’d made peace with reality of their lives. It wasn’t like they could change anything, anyway.
Stopping at the door to my room, I pulled out the key, placed it in the lock, and turned it twice. The door opened, but I didn’t step inside straight away. First, I listened. I couldn’t hear anything. Just in case, I summoned Mimo in the form of a spider, took control of his body, and searched the room from top to bottom. I even climbed up to the ceiling. All clear. I stepped in and locked the door behind me.
“Vat was a great day, and it could get even better,” I said with a smile, pulling the strongman’s hair out of my pocket.
The resonant female voice said: “DNA sample detected. Do you wish to analyze it?”
“I do,” I answered, lying down on the bed — I saw no reason to risk falling unconscious in the middle of the room.
“The sample contains the following dominants:
- Mesomorph
- Astigmatism
- Flat Feet
- Strong Bones
- Strong Ligaments
- Insulin Resistance.”
-
The list of dominants seemed rather short. Should I have made the strongman bleed somehow? Maybe then I’d have a greater choice, but I’d have given myself a whole load of problems in the process.
Ah well, what do we have? Mesomorph? I think that’s connected with body type. Astigmatism ruins your sight, and I don’t want flat feet either. Insulin resistance leads to diabetes, which I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. Strong bones and ligaments, on the other hand, were just what the doctor ordered.
Also, it was interesting that the strongman only offered me dominants connected with the body. On the other hand, it was unlikely that he spent much of his free time developing his intellect. Mentally giving the command to swallow, I immersed myself in my mind palace.
There was a burst of light in one of the free slots in the second row from the bottom, then it faded. I moved closer and saw a tiny steel-colored grain that was growing rapidly and forming a crystal. The female voice announced: “The Mesomorph dominant has been integrated. Mesomorph is an athletic body type that makes it easy to build muscle mass while retaining a low percentage of fat tissue.”
Hmm, that wasn’t bad. I really didn’t want to recycle it, although sooner or later I’d have to do an audit of my physical characteristics, as there were only three free slots left. The others were occupied with: Digestion Second Rank, Resistance to Alcoholic Intoxication, Sharp Hearing, Toxin Resistance, the Fencing grain, and now Mesomorph.
Hold on, what the hell did I need the Resistance to Alcoholic Intoxication dominant for? Toxic Resistance would be enough to neutralize all the damage done by alcohol. It’d probably stop me getting drunk too.
“Recycle ve Resistance to Alcoholic Intoxication and boost…”
I thought long and hard about which dominant to boost. Should I raise Mana Control to level three or turn the Fencing skill from a grain of sand into a full-fledged crystal? Of course, there was always the Fire Magic grain too, and there were a lot of interesting spells in the second rank of Ice Magic. Ah, damn this lack of genetic material…
Alright, let’s think rationally about this. I don’t have much mana — literally enough for one or maximum two spells. If I boost Ice Magic to the second rank, will I have enough mana for even a single one of those interesting spells? Quite possibly not. Alright, let’s forget that option.
What about Fire Magic? At the first rank, I won’t get anything useful. Sure, I’ll have a handwarmer for my pockets and a lighter in my fingertips, but what real use are they? I can already burn my enemies with cold. So, magic’ll have to wait for a better time.
Mana Control? One dominant definitely won’t be enough to boost it to a new level. That means all that’s left is Fencing. Okay, so I don’t have a sword of my own, but it wouldn’t be difficult to get one if I needed it. Any stick or scrap of metal could be a weapon too. What’s more, the Fencing dominant combined with the Dancer dominant would give me a huge advantage in close combat. Well, that was the answer.
“Recycle ve Resistance to Alcoholic Intoxication and boost Fencing.”
The Resistance to Alcoholic Intoxication crystal popped, turning to dust on the floor of the cave. Then a breeze blew that stirred up the crystal dust. The gusts spun it into a funnel, which rose toward the Fencing crystal. The dust adhered itself to all sides of the crystal, squeezing it to form new facets. A blaze of light blinded me for a second, and I heard the resonant female voice say: “The foundation of the new Fencing dominant is now a hundred percent full. Dominant formation completed.”
Now there was a full-fledged crystal in the slot, which brought a smile to my lips — I’d got a dominant I needed, and I’d freed up a slot for something more useful. I glanced over the remaining dominants and realized there was nothing else I wanted to sacrifice. Never mind.
I returned to reality and stretched from side to side, but couldn’t immediately feel any difference in my body. Well, it would be interesting to see how my body type had changed. I quickly ran to the shower room, washed, and then went to bed. It really had been a wonderful day.
In the morning, the siren sounded. I came sleepily out of my room and went outside. Then it was the soaking with cold water, the run around the school, breakfast, and after that my favorite of the useless lessons — lectures on basic control of mana. Stepping into the classroom, I noticed that Irina Parfiryevna wasn’t there. In her place was an old man with a receding hairline, tapping her pointer on his palm.
“Little geniuses, move your butts and take a seat!” he called out, smiling to show false teeth.
I flopped down in the back row and began to listen to the lecture attentively. This time, it really was interesting, although a couple of the assumptions were incorrect.
“This is what the structure of the energy channels used for the basic construction of a protective artifact looks like,” said the old man, drawing a load of lines that were all connected. In the center of the diagram was an energy store, drawn as a big round dot — this was what fed the whole structure with mana. “All you need to do is find a piece of scrap metal, make an item out of it — a ring or a bracelet, for example — and then imbue it with energy channels like this. The whole structure is strengthened using the runes Erd, Vihu, Yato, and Fehu.”
The teacher drew the familiar squiggles on the board, and I burst out laughing.
“Stand up!” he shouted indignantly, hitting his desk with the pointer. “Did I say something funny?”
“You drew somefing funny, more like.”
“Oh, I suppose you know more about artifactology than me, do you? Well, come up here and show us what it should look like,” said the teacher with a sarcastic smile, pointing at the board.
I nodded, took a chair, and dragged it over to the board. Leaning the chair against the wall, I climbed up on it.
“Vese channels here are useless. See, vey’re looped, so basically vey drive energy around in a circle. What we need is for ve energy to project outward, forming a defensive cocoon,” I said, crossing out a dozen lines. “Understood?” I asked seriously, turning to the class.
“Alright, smarty-pants. First, explain your theory to me, then I’ll decided if it’s worth sharing your nonsense with the class,” said the teacher sternly.
“Fine, let’s talk about runes ven,” I sighed. “Ve rune Erd is responsible for ve external appearance of magic, so it’s needed here, no question. Vihu forms a defensive dome, so it’s useful too. Yato strengfens energy structures, which is also helpful here. But Fehu needs to be removed.”
“Ha, what makes you say that?” snorted the old man, folding his arms across his chest.
“Vat rune is responsible for collecting and storing mana. It’s a useful tool, of course. But in vis case, vere’s already a physical energy store,” I explained, pointing with my finger at the dot the professor had drawn. “Vat store already holds ve mana. If you inscribe ve Fehu rune, vat will hinder ve propulsion of mana outward, as ve rune wil try to hold it in ve store. You see? You won’t be able to expel enough mana at once to form a strong barrier, as ve structure of ve artifact contradicts itself. You’re expelling mana and trying to keep it inside ve artifact. It doesn’t make sense.”
I put down the chalk, wiped my hands, and noticed the astonished look the professor was giving me. Reflected in the old man’s eyes was a thought process that kept him silent for a whole minute, after which he spoke again in the same light-hearted tone: “I’ve no idea how you know the meaning of runes, but that’s a very interesting theory. The only problem is, it’s completely divorced from reality. In practice, the order of runes I described earlier is used all the time and gives excellent results. It’s no accident that Baron Arkharov is one of the most powerful aristocrats in our region. It’s all because we maintain a very advanced level of artifactology.”
“Sure, ve level of ve stone age,” I snorted, dragging the chair back from the board and heading back to the back row.
“Mikhail, I’m glad your brain is working, but please keep your mouth shut and go back to your place in silence,” said the teacher to my back, before beginning to spout another load of drivel.
Still, I had understood one thing — my knowledge would be in demand in this world. I was particularly glad that their runic system was the same. How did I know that? Well, because when I explained the meaning of the runes, the professor didn’t contradict me. That meant I was right.
The lecture ended and I headed for the exit. Of course, however, the teacher wanted to stroke his ego.
“Of course, Mikhail, you are a fantasist, but you’re thinking in the right direction. Keep it up, and one day you really will understand how artifacts work.”
Aha, the condescending tone of the blissfully ignorant. How I love it! And he’d made sure to speak loudly too, so that everyone could hear. It was like he was praising me, while also making it clear that I was talking nonsense. Sure, sure, protect your authority while you still can.
“Your lecture was very entertaining. I hope you too understand how artifacts work one day, ven it could be useful as well as entertaining,” I said snidely, then dashed out of the classroom.
“Oh, you little swine!” roared the old man, flinging the pointer at me.
* * *
The same classroom, ten minutes later
The artifactology teacher paced from side to side, thinking about what Mikhail had said.
“Ha, so that little brat thinks he can teach me, does he? What a nerve! ‘Fehu needs to be removed.’ He’s the one who needs to be removed, the little dirtbag!” Anger made the old man slap the pointer so hard on his palm that he winced with pain. Furiously, he tossed the pointer down on the desk and stared out of the window. “But what if there’s something in that nonsense? They do say, ‘Out of the mouths of babes.’ Although he’s hardly a baby anymore. Besides, babies can’t even talk — what a stupid expression!”
Picking his bag up off the table, he slung it over his shoulder, turned off the classroom lights, and was about to close the door when his glance fell again on the diagram drawn on the board. The old man went back, pulled out his phone, and dialled the number of a friend who worked at the Yekaterinburg Artifact Factory.
“Sanych, you on the job?” he asked as soon as the call was answered.
“Yeah, Petya, I’m here. Working for the glory of the clan,” grunted Sanych, who was a senior technologist at the factory.
“Could you do a little experiment for me?”
“No problem, what do you need?”
“I’m going to send you a photo. Try making these changes to the structure of a protective artifact,” said the teacher, taking a photo of the diagram on the board and sending it to his friend.
“So, remove Fehu, right?”
“That’s right, and cut out the channels that have been removed from the diagram.”
“Alright, got it. That doesn’t look too complicated. Can you wait half an hour?” asked the senior technologist.
“Of course.”
The line went dead, and the artifactology teacher spent the next thirty minutes on tenterhooks. Finally, Sanych called back.
“Petya, well I’ll be damned! How the hell did you come up with that?” asked the senior technologist.
“On the toilet,” barked the teacher impatiently. “Tell me, did it work?”
“It sure did! The strength of the shield was doubled! And deployment was accelerated by half a millisecond!” babbled the technologist happily. “Petya, that’s got to be worth more than just a bonus, this could be your big break!”
“Or my big breakdown,” said the teacher thoughtfully. “Sanych, don’t tell anyone about this, okay? I’m going to call Arkharov now.”
“Go ahead, but don’t forget to mention me.”
“Will do,” said the old man, ending the call. “That snotty little genius. But what do I do now? Claim it for myself? No, if Arkharov finds out, he’ll hang me for sure, and there was a whole class of witnesses. Ah well, I’ll just have to tell the truth. Maybe there’s a reward for the bearer of good news too.”
Smiling, the teacher dialed the baron’s number, then froze as he waited for the call to be answered.
Chapter 12
LEAVING THE ARTIFACTOLOGY LECTURE, I headed to the gym. That day, I ended up with a battered old rapier, a mask that stank of sweat, and a five-year-old opponent. Ulyan Timofeyevich Yelfimov divided the rest of the class into pairs and clapped his hands to get our attention.
“Alright, today’s lesson is devoted to reviewing the material that we’ve covered. First, one of you takes the role of attacker, and the other defends. When I clap my hands, you change roles. Let’s go!”
Without wasting any time, my opponent rushed into the attack, deciding for himself that he’d go first. His rapier sliced through the air over my head. I ducked the lunge with ease and ended up behind the boy’s back. He turned around in surprise and swung wildly at me. The day before, I’d have jumped back and taken a sharp blow to my side, but now everything had changed a little.
My arm shot up diagonally and knocked my opponent’s sword upward. The guy stared at me in shock, his surprise even visible through the grill of his mask, then flung himself back into the attack to make up for his unfortunate failures. The steel whistled through the air, the blades clanged together, and for the first time I began to enjoy fencing, because everything came out the way I planned it.
In previous classes, I’d understood how I was supposed to hold the weapon, the angle I was supposed to deflect blows with, and all the other things I was supposed to do. In short, I’d known the theory from A to Z, it was just that my body couldn’t care less about my theoretical knowledge. It hadn’t been able to master the new material. Now, however, after I’d upgraded the Fencing dominant, something had changed. My movements stopped being clumsy and my rapier moved swift and sure.
Yes, there were gaps in my technique, and plenty of them. I could see the holes. But as I defended myself, I could feel the progress I was making. With each attack from my opponent and each deflection I made, I was controlling the blade better, even if I did sometimes let hits through. Thanks to my Animal Instinct, it didn’t happen often. Then I heard the hand clap.
“Let’s see how good you are in attack,” sniffed the five-year-old standing opposite me.
I began with a feint. I pretended that I was trying to stab his leg, pulled my hand back sharply, and struck at his face. The boy deflected my blow with ease. Okay, how about this? My rapier slashed the air near the boy’s stomach, flew over my head, making a full turn, and came down diagonally into his shoulder. At the last second, the five-year-old managed to jump back. He was quick.
A spark of excitement flared up in my chest and I dashed forward like I was possessed. I jabbed and slashed, feinted, tried to knock my opponent off balance and get behind his back, and attempted to knock the sword out of his hard. In other words, as Yelfimov had instructed, I showed everything I could do and more. My attacks didn’t hit their target that often, but then my aim wasn’t to knock down my opponent, it was to try out every move in my arsenal.
There was another clap, and we changed places again. The five-year-old slashed at the air, unable to make contact with me, while I began to work on my counterattack. Dodged a blow? Then jab your opponent in the side. Deflected his blade? Then make sure the damn ironware goes flying out of his hand.
When the session was over, I was very pleased with myself. Yes, there was plenty of room for improvement. There were opponents much stronger than me, but the combination of the Dancer, Fencing, and Animal Instinct dominants worked brilliantly. It would’ve been interesting to fight with some guardsman who’d already seen everything. It’d be great to know how big the gap between us was.
